Urban
by Working-On-Sanity
Summary: An innocent trip to Seattle disrupted everything. Perry knew Doofenshmirtz tried to be evil––he just didn't know the man couldn't keep a promise. All this time, Perry never realized Doofenshmirtz was visiting his rival Peter the Panda, and lying to hide his secret. Perry wondered how many others the doctor had deceived––or if he could forgive him again. Perry/Doofenshmirtz.
1. Chapter 1

**From the Author: **I hope this story will let me meet some people of different fandoms. I have had the privilege of meeting wonderful people from the _Naruto, Death Note, Reborn!, _and _Pokemon _fandoms, and I decided to expand a little in what I write. This story definitely taught me some things about writing, I must admit. It's difficult to write with but little dialogue to work with.

This fanfiction consists of two long chapters. If you dislike strong Perryshmirtz, nothing much should offend you. The only contact between Agent P and Doofenshmirtz in this story is hand-holding. I didn't try to write much romance - this time. Just wait until I get comfortable with these two.

* * *

**Chapter One**

A dense drizzle of rain fell in tiny spikes from the smog-garbed sky. The hard drops swirled and somersaulted in the brief puffs of wind like paper scarves in the hands of twirling children. Ominous explosions of thunder cracked directly over the peaks of tall buildings, making the raindrops sparkle, and blinding flashes of lightning soon followed, highlighting the skyline in white and flooding the clouds with an eerie shade of green. Shadows stretched and faded over the dark sidewalk, disappearing almost before their sources could be identified.

The streets were not empty, even in the midst of a violent summer storm. Passersby paused in their rush to reach their destination, glancing up uncertainly before turning up their collars to ward off the rivulets of water that ran down their faces. They walked with their shoulders raised, scuttling along beneath the awnings lining the fronts of the markets, never looking around to enjoy the mysterious beauty of the evening. In all their haste, they did not notice the presence of the one who observed silently from the cluttered, filthy alleyway.

From his place hidden behind a lumpy stack of garbage bags, Peter crouched above the ground, seemingly not bothered by the cold black mud that squished up in ridges around his paws. His fedora had been pulled down low to shield his beady eyes from the haze of rain, its brim soaked and sagging and pushing his round ears down flat against the sides of his head.

He huddled against the mountain of trash bags as a woman strode past, holding a newspaper over her perfectly styled hair. Her high heeled shoes clicked hollowly against the pavement, the sound growing louder and louder as she passed by and then becoming lost beneath the hiss of wind.

Peter vaguely wished he had bought a newspaper earlier this morning to use for the same purpose as the busy woman had. He brushed one broad paw over his arm, sweeping away the excess water from his shaggy fur. Feeling tired and heavy, he eased himself back against the drab gray wall and turned his attention to the plastic shatterproof watch strapped around his thick wrist.

He tipped his head, gazing curiously past the reflection of light that made his watch almost impossible to read. Surely he should have been met by now. The sky was wrapped in a cloak of gray, and Peter supposed the carillons would chime the nineteenth hour very soon. Idly, he tapped the end of one blunt black claw against the face of his watch, as if doing so would make the seconds pass more quickly. Thunder rolled above him, a deep detonation rattling over the horizon.

The unsettling noise not only made the lights in the apartment buildings flicker, it also masked another, more frightening sound––almost. Peter's ears leaned toward the sound, and he jerked upright, straightening his stocky legs and spreading his paws before him for balance. He strained to listen, and a moment later, shook his head in annoyance. The rain pattered against the garbage bags and metal disposal bins, reminiscent of the noise of scattered applause. It was difficult to hear anything except the grumbling thunder and the rush of water gurgling down the gutters.

The grating _rshhh _of a hand sliding painfully down the rough brick wall was almost inaudible. Peter waited tersely, watching ahead. He squinted, and through the fog saw a small figure struggling to mount the top of the high alley wall. Its hands gripped the sharp edges of brick for support as it heisted itself over the wall, swinging its short legs for momentum. It landed heavily, with its feet smacking onto the thick mud.

Peter did not have to clearly see his visitor to recognize him. A familiar scent filtered into his leathery nose, stronger than the rain and the stench radiating from the bags of garbage. This new smell was musty, like the aged yellow pages of a rarely used library book, and sour––the unpleasant scent of soaked fur.

Peter inclined his head in silent greeting, but did not bother to politely raise his hat. Rather grudgingly, he nodded in the direction of the carillon tower, where floodlights painted bright spots of gold over the sides of the old brass bells. The meeting was considerably delayed, and Peter did not hesitate to show his disapproval.

Apologetically, Perry pinched his fingers around the brim of his fedora, lifting it from his crown to hold it, worrying its worn edge into wrinkles. He stared somewhere around Peter's foot, intimidated by the panda's stern, unwavering glare. Rain clung in a mist to Perry's slick fur, glittering in the bursts of lightning.

Unwillingly, Peter turned away, the mud sucking at his paws to hold him in place. He put more effort into walking, yanking his legs up so violently his knees met his paunch. He marched ahead, feeling Perry's stare boring between his shoulders.

Puzzled, but also relieved, Perry replaced his fedora and moved silently behind Peter, his flat tail dragging over the ground and leaving an uneven trail in the mud. He did not know where Peter would lead him––somewhere unsavory, he supposed. He had only been to Seattle once before, and knew little of what the city held hidden in its depths. He began counting his steps, watching the ground below his feet, watching rain splatter into murky yellow puddles; anything to keep from feeling so awkward and stupid around Peter.

Without warning, a dull, clanging racket quivered through the moist air, seeming to rend even the grim stillness of their surroundings. Perry stopped abruptly, one foot suspended above the earth. His fur raised on end, sending prickles up and down his body as he drew up his shoulders in surprise. Frozen motionless, he stared at Peter, but Peter seemed oblivious to the attention and strode on, as if he had not heard a thing. Peter's nonchalance somewhat comforted Perry, and Perry glanced warily from one side of the street to the other, whiskers trembling in time to the rapid drumming of his heart.

Then he saw it––the university's carillon tower. The enormous bells, so many of them, swung from side to side, sparkling gold in the inviting light. They were such cheerful instruments, toppling back and forth in an odd dance and singing loudly and happily as they did. They reflected lacy dots of color through the mist, and banged against one another gently, the notes tumbling over one another in a familiar tune. Perry felt compelled to venture closer to the tower, just to be nearer to that tiny spot of cordial warmth in a gray metropolis veiled with fog and drizzle.

As if Peter sensed this notion, he stopped in his waddling gait and turned to peer behind himself at Perry. Perry stood, arms hanging uselessly by his sides, his eyes filled with the flecks of gold light the bells flung out. He seemed almost content, as if he could sit and listen to the carillon's performance forever, despite his situation and despite the unwelcoming attitude of Peter.

Peter, too, listened to the bells. He was startled by how clear they rang. Had they always been so perfectly on key? He restlessly wondered if he had grown so used to hearing them chime every hour that he no longer noticed them. How strange, he thought, that gruff, insensitive Perry would appreciate a song flowing from a common carillon.

After a few minutes, the bells ceased to clang, and soon only the whisper of sprinkling rain could be heard. The entrancement disappeared just as quickly, and Peter continued walking.

Wistfully, Perry followed.

* * *

00000000

* * *

The storm had not softened. Rather, it had grown more fierce, as if it believed it were showing a bit too much mercy toward the people that darted about beneath it. Rain whipped down in great fat pellets, smacking against the sidewalk and the nylon canopies. Wind plucked at the umbrellas that were lined along the out-of-doors picnic tables, making their metal ribs jut in and out under the pressure.

Perry huddled beside a large square wastebasket, situated next to the glass doorway of a cozy coffeehouse. He may as well have lay in the midst of the sidewalk––he was no drier pressed into the corner than he would be in the open. Habitually, he reached up to straighten his fedora, which sank lower over his brow, weighed down with water. Raindrops coated its peak, steadily falling and looking like miniature crystals before they met the concrete sidewalk and shattered.

Impatiently, Perry poked at his watch, sliding his finger beneath the white plastic band to loosen it. Generally he did not mind waiting. He waited for meals, for buses, for cabs, for the intersection to clear so he could cross––but he always had something to occupy himself in those cases. He was always petted and talked to as his dish was being filled and the food scraped from the can, and while riding in cabs, he could riffle through the newspaper to look at the pictures, at least.

But while waiting for Peter to return from his errand, he had nothing to do but gaze around at the impressive urban environment. The massive buildings seemed to lean toward him, their glowing windows and doors twisting until Perry felt most uneasy, as though they were leering at him. He surrendered to the will to look away.

He shifted and muffled a purring sigh in his forearms, folding them over his knees and curling his tail around his soft flank defensively. He considered wandering away, but Peter had, in no uncertain terms, told him to stay where he was until he returned.

Perry disinterestedly watched the masses of people mill about, their open umbrellas forming a sea of color that bobbed as they allowed themselves to be carried by the current of the crowd. Coattails and cuffs and pressed slacks and neckties and evening gowns blended together in one wavy collection that clearly read "busy; can't be bothered."

They were dressed in their finest and so blindly intent on arriving at their destination that they never so much as commented on the captivating beauty of the large chalky clouds that piled in the sky, or the shafts of silver moonlight that split the clouds, or how the wind darted through the tree leaves to make them rustle.

One man in particular among the crowd Perry noticed. Immediately, Perry felt a sense of familiarity, one that reminded him so strongly of home. Curiously, he lifted his head from his forepaws and narrowed his eyes, his whiskers twitching with concentration.

The man scuttled along the curb, his coat pulled back by and flapping in the gusts of wind. His shoes were clumsy things, and he seemed most uncoordinated, accidentally stepping into every puddle in his path. Yellow water splashed up around the bottoms of his trouser legs, and he stopped to lift his feet, his back stiffening in disgust. Perry could practically hear the _squeesh-squeelch _of his soaked shoes as he plodded forward.

For a reason he could not explain, Perry felt drawn to the man. Without really thinking about his decision, he pushed himself to his feet and gave himself a brisk shake that sent water flying from his fur in a cold spray. He did not even glance over his shoulder to see if Peter still stood at the counter, gesturing to the waitress in motions that somehow signaled her to fetch him a cappuccino.

Perry began walking toward the man, keeping somewhat hidden behind the fenced-in trees and mailboxes along the curb, though it was useless to do so, since no one would have noticed him anyway. But he realized this method of travel in such a heavily populated city was slow, and he continuously lost sight of the man as he disappeared into the crowd.

Perry knew he had no real reason to follow the man. He dropped to all fours, moving more quickly in this natural position than in his adopted position of waddling on his hind legs. He shot past the showy storefronts, weaving between the legs of people in his haste. He stretched out his limber legs to gain speed, and dashed between a woman's ankles before he could stop himself.

Her long skirt billowed in the breeze he made, and she gasped, nearly tripping over his tail. Perry leaped forward to avoid being stamped upon, and the wind crept beneath his hat as if to lift it into the air. He hastily whipped up one paw, clutching his fedora against his head.

When he looked up, the brim of his fedora partially obstructed his view, and all he could see for a brief moment were two gangly legs covered by dark khaki slacks. Startled, he dug his heels into the sidewalk, splaying his fingers over the rough concrete to stop himself from bumping into the backs of the man's scuffed black shoes.

Somehow, the soft sound of Perry's paws scraping over the sidewalk did not become smothered beneath the dull hum of a hundred different voices and the clacking of footsteps. Perry scarcely had enough time to push himself back up to a slouched standing position before the man in front of him whirled around in surprise. Perry recognized him instantly, his eyes widening as he glanced from the man's thin sopping hair strung over his forehead to the paper coffee cup he held.

"Perry the Platypus?"

Doofenshmirtz's surprise was clearly visible to Perry. His eyes widened as far as they could with such heavy bags tugging at the underlids, and in one movement, almost as if punctuating the silence with a flourish, he flipped his hand to the side. Coffee sloshed over the edge of the paper cup and splashed over the sidewalk, briefly staining the concrete bronze before being washed away in the steady torrent of rain.

"I––I wasn't at the coffeehouse, if that's what you were thinking," he said, and his harsh tone clearly revealed his pitiful attempt at lying. Without turning around, he stretched his arm behind him, unfurling his fingers around the coffee cup. It dropped soundlessly into the disposal canister he knew was there.

Perry watched, unconsciously tipping his head to the side, almost as if to make sure the cup with the distinctive coffeehouse logo had really fallen into the wastebasket. His fur creased with the motion, and Doofenshmirtz noticed how Perry's whiskers drooped, water beading on them and making each hair glow in the faint light.

"What are you looking at?" he asked, folding his arms defensively, unwittingly making a barrier between himself and Perry. "I don't have to go by your schedule. So what if I decide to take a little va_ca_tion from getting blown to pieces every other day? It's not like I have to tell _you _about it. What are you doing here, anyway, Perry the Platypus?"

Perry hastily averted his gaze, clasping his wet paws behind his back to hide how tightly he squeezed his fists.

This had happened before. They had, one time earlier, accidentally met in the middle of Seattle. Perry knew who had invited Doofenshmirtz––the same one who had grudgingly called Perry to the city. And for what purpose, Perry had no clue.

The rain suddenly became thicker, and Perry slowly peered up from beneath the brim of his fedora, his eyes seeming unusually brown and soft, void of their characteristic icy steel of determination. He slid his paws across his middle, ruffling his fur, before finally letting his arms rest against his sides. Simultaneously he lowered his head, only the edge of his bill below his fedora visible to Doofenshmirtz.

Somehow, that one fleeting wounded expression made Doofenshmirtz regret his encounter with Perry more than any solid strike to the chin would. He shifted from left to right, feeling strangely awkward around Perry. He almost wished Perry would resort to violence to vent his frustration with him. Doofenshmirtz became so convinced that this would happen that he braced himself, wincing, preparing for the blow that never came. When he finally opened one eye a slit, he felt all his hope at being readily forgiven fade. He clutched his elbows, keeping his arms held against his front; now more for protection against the rain than anything else.

Perry had left.

* * *

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* * *

The coffeehouse was perfect in all ways, according to Peter. At the moment, the precise amount of people filled it: not so many the one large room seemed to swell with moving bodies, but enough that the calming hum of conversation filled the air.

Peter inhaled deeply, the pungent scent of coffee relaxing him. Settling himself in his seat, he closed his large paws around the mug of coffee before him. The ceramic felt hot against his roughed pads, and he moved his paws only when they began to sting.

Turning his head, he watched the trees lining the block wave in the gale, and idly fanned away the steam rising from his coffee. He dropped his chin against his knuckles, propping his elbow on the table. It was dry and cozy inside, and drowsiness began to pull his eyes shut.

The shrill jangling of a little brass bell signaled the arrival of a new customer, and the door clapped closed a moment later. Peter did not feel the need to open his eyes, wanting to doze, but the loud squeaking racket of a chair being pulled from beneath a table made him cringe. It was not until an uneventful minute had passed before Peter fully awakened to realize someone had sat at his table.

On the opposite side of the table, Perry curled himself into the chair, water dripping from his fur and staining the cushions a darker shade of burgundy. He stared at the floor, not seeming to be bothered by how his tail bent uncomfortably against the back of his chair. Peter squinted; Perry's cheeks seemed to be paler beneath his wind-tousled fur.

Had he found out––? Peter grew rather uneasy at this thought, and reached out to draw his mug of coffee closer. Perry glanced up shortly, and his gaze stopped on the thick mug. A different sort of glaze dulled his eyes, and Peter remembered with a jolt his excuse for visiting the coffeehouse––he had promised to buy Perry something to drink, claiming the weather called for cocoa. While sharing coffee with Doofenshmirtz, he had forgotten about Perry entirely.

Peter felt an unfamiliar pang of guilt, and after lingering a while, slid from his seat, his feet meeting the floor softly. He lifted his fedora, turning it upside down. A crumpled five-dollar bill was partially hidden beneath the black fabric band, and Peter clicked the claws of his thumb and forefinger into the crisp edge of the money. Replacing his fedora, he started toward the front counter.

Perry halfheartedly wondered where Peter was going. Listlessly, he dropped his small paw to the edge of his tail, drawing it over his lap and gently rubbing his fingers over the smooth ridges. He listened to the rumbling buzz of the heating units, his whiskers trembling in the warm rush of air.

An odd prickle of fear sailed up his back, and he glanced about nervously before pulling his tail more tightly over his knees. Several people had paused in their leisurely coffee-sipping to stare at him. Self-consciously, he tugged the brim of his fedora over his forehead, hoping the stinging of his cheeks was from the driving rain and not a flush of embarrassment.

The noisy _clack _of a glass being placed on the table roused Perry's curiosity. Having returned, Peter clambered onto his chair, dangling his short legs beneath the table as he watched Perry stonily. A large cup of cocoa stood in the middle of the table, steam swirling up from the froth. Peter had chosen to buy cocoa rather than coffee, believing Perry would prefer the sweetness of chocolate over the bitterness of coffee.

Slowly, as if still not sure Peter had really fetched the drink for him, Perry reached out to close his fingers around the handle of the cup and dragged it closer. Uncertainly, he tipped it to the side, peeking down into the dark liquid. Peter nodded and took a sedate sip of his own coffee, observing Perry's reaction over the edge of his mug.

Startled by the act of kindness, Perry attempted a brief grateful smile, one that faded before Peter could really see it. He raised the cup high enough to lightly blow on the cocoa's surface, sending ripples skittering through the cream's foam and the steam twisting away in thin curled ribbons. He did not immediately hurry to taste the chocolate––instead, he held the cup nearer to his face, closing his eyes against the soothing breath of warmth.

Peter ran his claw around the rim of his mug, his stomach tightening with that same unwelcome emotion: guilt. He would not have been bothered if Perry growled at him, conveying his anger in one of the few ways he knew how. He would not even have bolted if Perry happened to tackle him to the ground right then. He only knew that the situation would be less difficult to ignore if Perry snarled and grappled and perhaps tried to crack a few well-aimed chops onto Peter's head with hands that were quickened by rage.

Abruptly, Peter shoved his mug toward Perry, yanking his fedora down over his ears and climbing from his chair. Though he had treated Perry to a late meal, his conscience was not appeased.

Perry scarcely acknowledged that his coworker left, only a curt stiffening of his back proving he noticed at all. He clenched his paws around his cup, wishing he was at home, buried beneath the soft worn blankets in his bed, asleep without having to worry about such complicated human affairs as obvious lies and secret rendezvouses.

Cupping the mug in both paws, he tipped it forward, not concerned about enjoying the sugary flavor. He swallowed without tasting, only wanting to burn away the strange ache that festered in his throat.

* * *

**From the Author: **I tried to write something cheery that follows the usual mood of _Phineas and Ferb, _but all I could come up with was something gloomy like this.

I still have much to learn about writing these characters, and I can't wait to practice for improvement. Any advice or comments are very much appreciated, and I mean that from the bottom of my heart. Thank you for taking your time to read!


	2. Chapter 2

**From the Author: **I just love Perry. I'm still trying to find the right mix of animal behavior and human behavior. I'm thinking of writing a story that takes place soon after he joins the O.W.C.A. and focuses on how he learns to be an agent. Perry really doesn't have any animalistic behavior in the show aside from what he shows when he's with his family, but I'd like to explore that a little more. Anyway, thank you for reading.

**Edit (1/03/13): **I spotted a few format errors with the italics. I fixed those to allow for uninterrupted flow.

* * *

**Chapter Two**

Perry had not seen Peter since returning to Danville, and he really was not eager to meet with him again any time soon. Now that Perry was home, surrounded by familiar things and people, he did not feel nearly so gloomy as he had two days before. But though he no longer agonized over the issue of being deceived by his friend, there still lingered in his mind a portion of the dull unease he had struggled against upon discovering that Doofenshmirtz had taken the trip to see Peter.

"Are you okay, boy?" Phineas's concerned voice sounded far away and shallow, startling Perry from his thoughts. He realized he had been staring into the bottom of his plastic food dish, without having ventured to bite into the jelly-like mass of cold cat food that was still molded in the shape of the can it had come out of.

A warm hand dropped to his head, and Perry gladly leaned into the touch. Phineas rubbed his whiskers briskly, burying his fingers in Perry's sleek coat and arranging with preciseness every windblown hair.

"Mom, I think something's wrong with Perry." Phineas glanced toward Mrs. Flynn beseechingly, his hand still resting on Perry's head. Mrs. Flynn stopped circling a polishing cloth over a china dish, and leaned over to inspect their listless pet, her eyebrows bunched in concern.

"Maybe he's just tired," she suggested, and placed the dish on the table. She gently patted Perry's back, and Perry chattered, twisting around to nudge at her hand. Mrs. Flynn smiled briefly, her worry evaporating.

"See, honey?" She tousled Phineas's hair affectionately, and he squeezed his eyes shut. "Perry's fine."

"I sure hope so." Phineas, with his hair ruffled over his forehead, bent down to crouch beside Perry. He watched Perry carefully, still not entirely convinced of his being perfectly well.

Sensing he had failed to conceal his disappointment from his family, Perry decided to act casual as possible in order to avoid being further supervised. Nonchalantly, he lifted his paw, poising it lightly on the round edge of his bowl for support as he dipped his snout into it. He took a cautious bite of the cat food and chewed slowly, the rich flavor of ground fish coating his tongue. The scent of salt that came along with it rushed into his head so quickly he sneezed, jolting forward a bit.

At this, Phineas smiled and reached out, gently placing his hand over Perry's small warm paw.

"You sure you're okay, boy?" he asked persistently. With Phineas sitting so near, Perry could not clearly see him, his image blurry and faded. Strangely, Perry felt distanced from him, but attempting to ignore his glumness, he clacked his teeth together in an encouraging chatter.

"Phineas! Where are you?" The belligerent voice with its sharp edge cut through the comfortable silence, and Phineas rocked back on his heels in surprise. Candace stormed into the kitchen, her wavy red hair streaming behind her like some sort of furious flame. She stopped abruptly, the backs of her shoes touching one another and her arms locked over her flat chest.

"What's going on?" she asked, one eyebrow flattened over her squinted eye. "Ferb's outside, and you're in here? Are you trying to confuse me or something? Well, little mister, I'll have you know that I am not to be confused! I cannot be––"

Phineas interrupted calmly. "I _was_ getting ready to go outside, Candace, but Perry's acting sick. Mom thinks he's okay, but he still looks kind of bad. I don't know, though. Maybe he's just sleepy. He kept getting up last night and going from my bed to Ferb's. I don't guess he slept very well."

At this information, Candace paused, her scowl raising into a slight frown of embarrassed concern. "Oh." Suddenly flustered, she raked her fingers through her hair, pulling the bright strings away from her forehead. "I… well, if he is sick, you guys could probably build something to cure him or whatever."

She reluctantly knelt beside Perry, her short denim skirt billowing over her thighs, and with surprising gentleness, smoothed her palm over his head. She rubbed her fingertips around his stiff whiskers soothingly, sacrificing the cleanliness of her perfectly manicured nails.

Perry felt guilty for worrying his family. They showed their love for him so kindly, and it was at times like these he regretted most living with two separate personalities. The thought of being secretive around people who cared for him as much as he cared for them made the ache in his chest deepen.

"He knows he's all right, with you watching him and all. He'll be just fine," Candace said. She gave Perry a final pat and stood up, discreetly wiping her hands on her skirt. Perry knew she did not enjoy petting him, and that made his guilt worsen. Feeling sick, wishing he had not nibbled at the glob of cat food, he turned from his bowl and slunk toward his bed basket. Phineas and Candace stared after him, both sympathetic.

"I hope you feel better, Perry," said Phineas quietly, before he shifted to his feet and headed toward the front door. The clattering sound of a hammer meeting a stake outside was alluring, both to Phineas and Candace.

Though her brother left, Candace resisted the urge to follow and see what he and Ferb were in the process of building. She stayed still a moment, indecisively, watching as Perry crawled over the edge of the small wicker basket. He snuggled beneath the threadbare blankets, tucking his paws beneath him and resting his bill on the corner of the basket. He peered at Candace through half-closed dark eyes, and at last, Candace sighed and slouched, lowering her head in defeat.

"You really can make someone feel sorry for you, you know that? You pest." But she padded toward him, and, without complaint of getting dander on her newly pressed blouse or the prospect of becoming ill from close contact with him, lowered herself to the floor beside the basket. She looped one arm beneath her knees to hold her legs against her chest, and with her free hand, stroked her knuckle over the velvet fur of Perry's cheek.

Attention from Candace was rare, and Perry appreciated it immensely. He almost forget what he was upset about. The essence of his unease was somewhat alleviated with such cautious caresses, every whisker drew between his owner's soft fingers and every tight muscle uncoiling. The tension that kept his back rigid gradually drained, and he breathed slowly, his eyes closing as he fell asleep.

* * *

Peter paced up and down the sidewalk, his paws behind his back, and his head bowed. Though Perry was far away and steadily forgetting his sadness, Peter remained in wet Seattle, dodging murky puddles and struggling to overcome his guilt.

He had hurt Perry. But, of course, he had not intended to. He wondered why, strangely, he even cared about whether or not Perry was hurt. Emotions could heal, and emotions as petty as those of a platypus were of no great importance to anyone––especially not to Peter. Peter had always known Perry as being gruff and cool under pressure. How could simply stumbling over a secret bother Perry so greatly?

Peter consoled himself by thinking of his job. The career of being an agent was stiff. There was no time to feel horrible over mistakes. He rarely made them, anyway. So why did his stomach become heavy when he remembered how sadly Perry had looked at him?

The more Peter thought, the more angry he became, despite his round face staying neutral and void of any evidence of rage. Why, this entire mishap was Perry's fault. If Perry had not taken that mission to Seattle, he never would have seen Peter and Doofenshmirtz together. Peter still was not sure how Perry had even found out. That was the reason Peter had ordered Perry to stay outside the coffeehouse, to buy enough time for him and Doofenshmirtz to share a brief meal of coffee and crisps.

Perry had no right to intrude, anyhow. Seattle was Peter's home, and Doofenshmirtz had made the trip to spend a day with him. Doofenshmirtz _had _been Peter's target for a while, after all. Peter had just as much freedom as Perry. Who was Perry to be offended over a matter that was none of his business?

But Peter still did not feel satisfied. He sighed quietly, his nose feeling a bit warm. The coffeehouse was just upstreet, and he was undeniably thirsty, but he no longer was attracted by the inviting scent of coffee.

* * *

When Perry awoke with a start and a sharp intake of breath, he found the house to be empty. He glanced about, noting the chairs in the kitchen and the adjacent den to be empty. Mrs. Flynn likely was at the market, shopping for groceries to supply not only her small family, but to provide snacks for many of the neighborhood children, as well. Perry couldn't hear any angry shouting or pulsating music or bleeping of a cellphone, which meant Candace had left, too.

The sound of mingled chattering voices floated in from outside, and Perry relented to the urge to find out what strange contraption laid in the yard today. He hopped from his basket, his paws meeting the floor with barely a thump, and trudged toward the door. Through the spotless glass, he saw Phineas and Ferb standing below the oak tree, their goggles strapped over their eyes. Isabella kept close beside Phineas, peeking over his shoulder at the clipboard he held. A long strand of her dark hair slipped from its place pinned back by her large pink bow and dangled against Phineas's cheek. If he noticed, he pretended not to.

Perry abruptly realized how late in the afternoon it was. Most days he would already be inside Doofenshmirtz's apartment by now. Without knowing what he was doing, he raised his arm and poked at the plastic face of his watch, as if his prodding would make an incoming message from Major Monogram flash onto the tiny screen. Only the blank white circle stared up at him, and disheartened, Perry sank to the floor.

He made his slow way to the stairs, climbing the large steps in little leaps with his tail dragging behind him. He mounted the landing, venturing past Mr. and Mrs. Flynn-Fletcher's bedroom. The door to Candace's room was open, revealing a sickening sea of pink and purple, dotted with flowers and vampire posters and photographs of her boyfriend. Perry thought Candace's room was most comfortable to stay in, with the soft furry rugs to lie on and the piles of stuffed animals to burrow into. But there always remained the chance that Candace would return to find him napping among her precious toys. He hated having to slink away while she screeched in horror.

At last, Perry decided to nap in the hall in front of the room Phineas and Ferb shared. He patted his paws on the plush carpet, flattening it out. Just as he dropped to the floor and snuggled into his makeshift bed, finding solace of sorts in the silence, a piercing beep broke the calmness. Perry bolted upright, a mixture of fear and relief swelling in his stomach when he realized the familiar sound was only his watch. He plopped to the floor, his feet stretched in front of him, and lifted his paw to press his thumb against the side of his watch.

The screen turned fuzzy with multicolored static before Major Monogram's face appeared, no larger than the presidential faces on the coins Perry often found beneath the sofa cushions. Perry almost––_almost_––smiled with satisfaction, grateful for a task that would divert his attention to something other than boredom.

"Good evening, Agent P," Major Monogram said formally, his rough voice stiff and courteous as normal. "I'm sure you've noticed how lazy these past few days have been. We haven't had any trouble out of Dr. Doofenshmirtz for awhile. This could be bad news––he might be building up steam for something big."

Perry nodded, wondering why he felt eager toward the idea. He gazed at the screen, and squinted curiously. Major Monogram appeared confused, his brow shading his stony eyes.

"Or," Major Monogram continued, less enthusiastically, "maybe Doofenshmirtz has finally turned his life around, so to speak. But I sincerely doubt that: I think it's that first thing I mentioned. We really can't expect anything else from him. Anyway, we received an unusual message from the doctor a while ago via telephone. It'd be best for you to listen to it yourself. Carl," he said, directing his next order to his assistant, "get the message on speaker."

Perry waited tersely, clenching his fingers into the carpet. He didn't know what to hope for. Doofenshmirtz had sent messages to the O.W.C.A. headquarters before, but Major Monogram had never seemed puzzled by it.

"Hey, um, Francis?" Doofenshmirtz's nasal voice crackled through the speakers, and Perry instantly felt more confident. The message hesitantly continued: "If you don't mind, Francis, could you relay this to Perry the Platypus? I don't know what kind of _system_ you have or anything, but I need him to come over as soon as he can. This isn't a trap, I promise, and I don't have some kind of _evil _scheme going on, if _that's_ what you are thinking. I have a few things I need to discuss with Perry the Platypus, so just send him over right away."

A click signaled the end of the recording, and Major Monogram glanced toward Carl awkwardly. He spoke again after a moment. "We, uh, wouldn't really advise you to make the trip, Agent P. You're not obligated to, with it being personal and all…." He trailed off apologetically. "But Carl and I thought you'd like to know. If you do go, be careful. It sounds suspicious."

Perry lifted his paw to his forehead in a respectful salute, and the screen of his watch snapped into blackness. With a new sense of purpose, he stood, retrieving his fedora and jamming it onto his head. He straightened the brim, pinching the out the wrinkles, and tried to ignore the conflicting emotions that were currently at battle in his mind.

He _wanted _to see Doofenshmirtz. He desperately wanted to continue with their daily routine of bickering and battling. Yet he also felt embarrassed––of course Doofenshmirtz remembered the unpleasant scene in Seattle. Perry was not keen on the chance of that time being mentioned.

But, he thought sensibly, he had no alternatives. He would have to defy his humiliation some time; now was good as any.

* * *

Perry had made the trip to Doofenshmirtz's apartment so many times before, he now scarcely had to consider which routes to take.

From his place hidden beneath a canvas marquee covering several crates of fruit, Perry squeezed one eye shut, carefully examining the hulking purple Doofenshmirtz Evil Inc. building for signs of life. He cupped the bottom of his plastic grappling hook pistol in one paw to steady it, and aimed cautiously at the ledge protruding from the doctor's parlor window. He pushed his finger against the plastic trigger, and with a sharp _pop, _the lightweight hook whistled through the air from the barrel of the pistol, its barbs snagging the ledge. Perry extended one paw to tug at the rope attached to the hook, and deeming it stable, wound it around his palms for anchorage. He climbed quickly, the rope swaying in the breeze.

Upon arriving at the highest window, Perry curled his fingers over the ledge and with some difficulty managed to hoist himself up. He didn't bother to extract the tiny grappling hook from the corner, choosing to leave it in place. Crouched on the ledge, he assessed the state of the dim apartment through the window. Machines lined the walls, and occasionally a light would wink on; otherwise, the scene seemed harmless and strangely normal.

Gathering will, Perry launched himself nimbly from the ledge, sucking in his breath as he braced himself. He stretched his legs, moving his hind feet at an angle for the best striking position. His heel met the hard glass window, and a brief pain seared through his leg as he threw his small weight forward on that one point of contact. The glass ballooned inward before shattering, tiny clear shards scattering and minuscule slivers catching in Perry's fur. He doubled over quickly, closing his fingers around his back paws and rolling heavily onto the cold floor.

"Perry the Platypus!" The dismayed groan proved to Perry that Doofenshmirtz would have preferred his entering the apartment by other means than the recently replaced window. Perry leaped upright, shaking himself roughly. The splinters of glass rained from his fur like icicles from a shaken spruce tree.

"Gee, would you look at this mess?" Doofenshmirtz stepped closer, directly in front of Perry. He shook his head in disapproval when the specks of glass showered over his large shoes, tinkling against the shiny leather. "Well, it doesn't matter," he said, abruptly nonchalant. "The window's easier to replace than the whole _roof, _if you know what I mean."

He bent down, opening his hand close to Perry. Dubiously, Perry accepted his assistance, tucking his paw into the wide hand and allowing himself to be led into the adjoining room. Doofenshmirtz had to stoop even lower than normal to keep hold of Perry's small paw, and Perry felt rather foolish. He sincerely hoped Doofenshmirtz would not pretend as if nothing was wrong. Perry almost wanted him to argue, or even to apologize.

"Come on," Doofenshmirtz said encouragingly. "I told you I wouldn't trap you this time, so loosen up. I just wanted to talk to you. We can do that, right?"

Perry wondered what this "talk" would cover, nodding slightly. He wished Doofenshmirtz would release his grip on his paw. He flexed his fingers against Doofenshmirtz's hand, trying to deter that odd sweaty pins-and-needles sensation.

"Here, we can stay in the kitchen, if that's okay with you, Perry the Platypus." Doofenshmirtz guided Perry into the kitchenette area, gently tugging on his arm. Perry stopped, digging his heels into the floor for a fleeting second before considering that maybe, perhaps, there really was no intent of capturing him. Unwillingly, he followed Doofenshmirtz, nearing the table. Perry jerked his paw from Doofenshmirtz's hand indignantly, and climbed the rungs of the rickety chair to reach the seat.

Doofenshmirtz didn't sit immediately. He moved busily around the kitchen, opening and closing the refrigerator and banging pantry doors. Perry watched with mild interest. At last, Doofenshmirtz returned to the table, a small can pressed in his palm. Perry craned his neck, reading the upside-down label.

"You want some?" Doofenshmirtz offered hopefully. "I… uh, don't really know what platypuses eat. I was thinking vegetables or something like that, but the closest thing I have is sardines. You know, I could tell you a thing or two about the time I saw this documentary about this guy who went out on a picnic date and nearly choked to death on a sardine bone. That'll change a person––both the one choking _and_ the one watching, actually. I… uh…"

Perry withheld a sigh at the pointless prattle, but felt somewhat pleased nonetheless. He waited for Doofenshmirtz to realize his slight smile meant "thank you", and once he opened the shallow square can, Perry peeled a sardine from its thick oil bed. He shook the little fish doubtfully, pinching it by the thin membrane of its fan tail. He decided it looked a bit more appetizing than cold cat food.

"I know, right?" Doofenshmirtz tipped the can to its side, the oil oozing over the other fish packed inside. "I think I might have… uh, something else, to be honest. More for you, though, huh?"

Perry lifted his shoulders in a stingy shrug, sensing that Doofenshmirtz was doing nothing more than wasting time by stalling. For once, Perry thought, he might have actually had something important to say. Idly, Perry dangled the sardine from his fingers, watching its fins flap about.

Doofenshmirtz returned for the second time, a package of plain crackers in his hands. He placed them, unopened, on the tabletop, but made no move to unwrap them. Wedging the toe of his shoe around the leg of the chair, he pulled it from beneath the table and sat down heavily. He remained quiet for longer than Perry knew he ever could. Only the ticking of the wall clock, along with the frequent eerie whirr of a machine, could be heard. Even Norm's presence wouldn't have been entirely obnoxious, Perry thought.

"Perry the Platypus," Doofenshmirtz finally began, and Perry looked up coolly. "I can kind of tell you aren't too happy to be here, and all." The ice in Perry's eyes thawed a minute degree. "I can guess why, too. You're mad about this whole 'Peter-the-Panda' fiasco, aren't you?"

His directness was unnerving. Any other time, Perry's expression would have remained neutral as usual. But this––the fact that Doofenshmirtz managed to pinpoint the problem almost instantly––startled Perry. His composure slipped, and his frown deepened, his eyes growing soft. But just as quickly as it happened, the look of sadness was replaced by the same mask of calm indifference, and Perry shooed away Doofenshmirtz's words with a wave of his paw.

"You're a pretty good actor, Perry the Platypus," Doofenshmirtz said. "But even_I _can figure out when you're mad. Probably because this time, it's kind of… well, it's mostly my fault."

Perry glared, his eyes bright and hard beneath the shadow his fedora cast over his forehead.

"I guess…" Doofenshmirtz self-consciously adjusted the collar of his shirt, nervousness apparent in his movements. "I guess, maybe, it was wrong of me to yell at you about Peter the Panda. And probably even _more _wrong to hide that I was going to see Peter the Panda in the first place. I didn't want you to find out or anything because you'd be upset."

Perry folded his arms over his chest, narrowing one eye in disbelief.

"Okay, okay, don't look at me like that!" Doofenshmirtz raised his hands in surrender. "It would have saved trouble if I'd told you before, is that what you're trying to say?"

Perry absentmindedly pulled a thin strip of meat from the side of the sardine, staring down at his lap. Aware he was being watched, he poked his finger into his mouth, sucking away the salty residue of the oil as if he were the only one in the room. He pretended to be very preoccupied by the unusual flavor of the oil, and closed his eyes tiredly while licking the grease from the pads of his fingers.

Doofenshmirtz sighed, slumping in defeat. "I suppose I shouldn't _expect _to be forgiven right away. After all, I _did _break my promise. I haven't been hurting you in the right ways at all, like I said I would, have I? Just the wrong ways. I want to be _evil, _Perry the Platypus, not _mean. _And lying to you is definitely mean. It just doesn't bring the same satis_fact_ion that I get when I trap you, or do other evil things." He sighed again.

A flush of heat rose to Perry's face, warming his skin beneath his fur. He hated this tension, this feeling that this entire mishap had happened before. To hide his unease, he pressed a strip of fish into his mouth, not eating it; instead, he nudged it with his tongue into the pouches lining his soft cheeks. He wasn't hungry anymore.

"Perry the Platypus," Doofenshmirtz said pleadingly, leaning over the table in desperation. "I hate when you're mad with me. I don't like to see you looking so upset. If… if I don't visit Peter the Panda anymore, would it make you feel better? 'Cause I––I trust _you_, and I'd like it if you could trust me, too. Peter the Panda is a nice guy, and he pays for my coffee and all, but it isn't really _that _worth it. If I do go to Seattle, I don't want to think that a sad little platypus will be holding a grudge against me when I come back. I want to always come home knowing that all I have to do is _build_ something and you'll be here, ready to destroy everything I work on. Just like always. You know?"

Perry spread his paw over his chest, willing that fluttery sensation to stop. The flutters felt the same as when he watched his owners sleep, or when Candace petted him, or when he basked in the summer sunlight while listening to Mr. and Mrs. Flynn-Fletcher chat on the porch. He realized that, in spite of his anger and hurt, he forgave Doofenshmirtz. And strangely, he didn't feel so lonesome nor empty anymore.

To show his decision, Perry stretched his arm over the table, placing his empty paw on Doofenshmirtz's knuckles. He smiled shyly, his stuffed cheeks curving.

What did it matter, anyway, Perry thought. He knew Doofenshmirtz would not trade him for a stoic panda––he had known that all along. He just wished he had remembered it earlier, before sulking and making everyone worry, like some sort of spoiled child.

"Aww." Doofenshmirtz returned Perry's smile fondly, his eyes squinting as he covered Perry's paw with his other hand. "Thank you, Perry the Platypus. For listening _and _understanding. And I promise you, for real this time, that I won't ever keep any secrets from you again. Well––" He cut off and looked uncomfortable. "Maybe there's a _few _things I can't tell you. _Quite _a few things. Okay, how about this––this is simpler: I promise to never visit Peter the Panda again without telling you first. "

And that single broken round of words was really all Perry wanted to hear. Satisfied by the conclusion, he nodded gratefully, his fedora slipping back and forth over his head. He slid his fingers from beneath Doofenshmirtz's hand and reached up to straighten his hat, that one simple motion breaking the mood.

"Don't think this changes anything," Doofenshmirtz warned as Perry clambered from the chair. "I'm not going easy on you next time, Perry the Platypus! You'd better be here tomorrow, because I'm going to have an -inator built _just _for you. Just wait, you'll never see it coming! This one will blow your little mind! I, uh…"

He shrugged apologetically and gave a sheepish grin. "I would tell you what kind of _evil _purpose it has, but that's a secret."

Perry paused, his back to Doofenshmirtz, and drew up his shoulders in surprise. He recovered quickly, and twisted around to glare icily at the doctor. Had he not been carrying such a professional reputation, he would have stuck out his tongue in that universal gesture of childish contempt. Instead, he only rolled his eyes, exasperated, and turned away.

"Hey, what was that for?"

Perry quickly darted through the main room with Doofenshmirtz following close behind. Before he could be stopped, Perry picked his way through the scattered broken bits of glass and jumped, grabbing the windowsill. He squeezed through the sharp, gaping hole in the window, careful not to snag his fur on the shards, and crawled onto the ledge, retrieving his rope from among the tangled ivy vines.

"You're leaving already?" Doofenshmirtz cried in dismay. "Come on, we just made up, Perry the Platypus! Let's enjoy the moment!" He leaned toward the window, peering out at Perry.

Perched on the ledge, his tail flat against the brick to provide added balance, Perry looked up and patted the side of his paw against his fedora in a snapping salute. The rope bunched around his wrist, he leaped from the ledge, sliding down.

With Doofenshmirtz no longer in sight, Perry could finally let his managed cool expression falter. He pressed his bill against his forearms to hide his pleased smile, and even the warm wind that tugged at his whiskers could not melt away his happiness.

Things had returned to normal. He rather liked them that way.

* * *

**END**


End file.
